


Near or Far

by RansomNotes



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Ghosts, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24977221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RansomNotes/pseuds/RansomNotes
Summary: Reeling over Obadiah Stane's betrayal at the end of the first Iron Man movie, and all the many life changes of becoming Iron Man, Tony Stark retreats back to the New York mansion he grew up in, and feels like he haunts the halls until he meets an actual ghost one day.He finds himself connecting with the long-dead Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, and while the mystical nature of their bond bothers his scientific mind, his heart has other plans.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50
Collections: Iron Man Big Bang 2019/2020





	1. time for a whisky

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Iron Man Big Bang 2019/2020, with thanks to my artist (and beta too!) the wonderful [oluka](https://oluka.tumblr.com).
> 
> Oluka's awesome artwork is embedded below!  
> Come visit our tumblrs too, at [oluka](https://oluka.tumblr.com/) and [RansomNoteworthy](https://ransomnoteworthy.tumblr.com/).

Tony let the highball glass trail idly from his fingertips as he slowly meandered through the room. He reluctantly set it down on a storage box finally, when it was moments from falling from his grasp and shattering. His father’s study had probably seen enough splashed liquor and shattered glass. He wasn’t sure if he could remember the last time he’d been in this room with his father. Odds were good he was as drunk then, in his reckless college years, as his father near-perpetually was, at home. Bitterly drunk, the elder, and brutally drunk, the younger, but the Starks had a long history of alcoholic self-medication.

His fingers lightly brushed the next box as he slowly worked his way back towards the desk. So much of his father’s work, stored carefully within each box, but each box almost recklessly strewn about the room. Tony hadn’t wanted to see it, after his parents’ car accident, but he had enough begrudging respect for his father’s genius that he’d kept it all, of course, of course, and within the manor, too, as if it could possibly belong anywhere else. And since the study was a room Tony would rather pretend didn’t exist, the boxes fit well in there. They fit there better than Tony ever had, truth be told.

Tony was Iron Man now. Iron Man wasn’t afraid of anything, but that sort of hyped self-confidence wasn’t why he’d wandered in here tonight. Obie’s betrayal and death had prompted such a wave of conflicted grief, it was probably inevitable that he’d end up drinking alone in the study, again, eventually. It wasn’t his favorite form of destructive self-flagellation, sprawled incoherent amongst the rest of his father’s abandoned life’s work, but it was nevertheless not an isolated event.

Something about his newfound goals and life’s purpose reframed this visit though. Almost without thinking about it, he opened one of the boxes this time. All those years he’d spent ignoring them, and leaned against them, and bumping heavily into them as he came or went, booze-soaked and miserable, and he’d so cautiously never even shifted a box, let alone opened one or rummaged through. But this time...well, this time he was tired of standing outside the past, lingering at the edges of painful memories.

The first few boxes were full of notes and scrapped blueprints for idealistic but unlikely inventions. Plans for improbable weapons with impossible energy requirements, and plans for advanced arctic exploration technologies, who knew what else. The hover-car, too, which never did make it out of the experimental phase into any sort of practical or long-term application. Tony didn’t feel nostalgic, exactly, but he also didn’t feel quite so hollowed out as he often did, when reminded of everything his father had accomplished and cared about, other than him. Instead of him, maybe. God, he was always so melancholy now, when he had anything to drink past a glass or two.

The next box gutted him. Captain America and the Project Rebirth files. Howard was the most incandescent and then, eventually, incoherent, when he went through these boxes, and talked about that time period. Tony had loved and loathed the very sight of them while growing up, because the nostalgia portion of the evening was the closest he ever felt to his father, as Howard would reminisce about Captain America, the peak of human scientific achievement, the savior of the Allied cause, “and a damn good man, besides,” Howard would usually add, between exciting stories of the war and the many and varied triumphs of the SSR, and Cap, and Howard himself. But by the end of the night, Howard would be well past drunk, slurring and sad, as he’d tally all his many disappointments in life, chief of which, emblematic, was the loss of Captain America, and the ongoing failure to find him then or now.

Sometimes Howard would chatter on, hands making wide gestures that sloshed alcohol onto the desk, about the possibilities that Cap could still be recovered intact, even alive, and the ways the gamma radiation and Vita Rays used to create him could be used to resuscitate him. When he was still very small, young enough for fairy tales, Tony had been inspired and impressed. Even the raging blackouts that followed seemed in some ways only to enhance the drama of the tale. As an adult, the whole memory was pitiful and pathetic. He still funded the annual Stark Industries arctic search missions, usually citing the advanced aircraft and possible additional Hydra technology on-board as justification for the continued missions, but really, as much as he wanted to hate Captain America for apparently filling whatever minimal space for human connection Howard had once had-- despite that, Tony couldn’t help but continue his father’s task here. He would never have initiated something like this, but, once Howard passed, he found it impossible to end the last project his father had truly obsessed over. Besides, they were very nearly made of money, and the missions did lead to interesting cold-weather tech developments and discoveries, so he could usually avoid thinking about it over-much.

But now.

Seeing the boxes again...the subject was unavoidable. Captain America. Hell. He wasn’t really drunk enough for this after all, he thought, after picking through the first box. He abruptly threw back another quarter of the bottle and sagged to the floor with another one of the boxes. This one had one of the early non-vibranium shield prototypes in it. _It belongs in a museum_ , Tony jokingly muttered to himself in his best Indiana Jones impression, as he slid it on his forearm and remembered how much it had bothered his mother that Howard had collected so much of Captain America’s personal belongings and refused to ever release them for historical collections. If his father truly believed Cap might still be alive out there, his attitude made some sense, but everyone else, Maria included, saw it as either a collecting quirk of a millionaire or the nostalgic obsession of someone whose best days were behind them. From that perspective, yes, it made sense that Maria, looking to the future and pregnant with their son, might find it grim or unhealthy to cling so tightly to the past. It hadn’t mattered though. Howard had used any and all his connections, charm, and cash to find and keep every single piece of Cap memorabilia he could manage.

Tony drifted off to sleep with the shield still on his arm, and his memories tangled up in thinking about Captain America and how shields are designed to protect far more than to attack, and what a different and defensive view of Captain America that would be compared to the rampaging patriotic god Howard had seemed to describe.

*

The beam of light was so delicate as to seem unreal, and even through his hangover, or lingering drunkenness, Tony squinted at the ethereal glow with a scientist’s eye. A scientist’s bleary red and scratchy dry eye, but still. The apparition in the beam walked directly towards him, a man, angelic with his blond hair haloed in the light, but human with his confused expression and muddy boots. Tony’s first conscious thought was relief that he’d realized what made the glow so unreal: it was the contradicting highlights and shadows, light seemingly pooled and draped rather than obeying any natural laws.

But his second thought was panic, as the man reached out to him, and said, plaintively, “...Howard?”

In the morning, Tony hesitated to linger over the strange dream. His drunken blackouts were typically a great deal more blacked out than that, with few memories surviving morning’s light, but this was different. This was unique even by normal dream standards. And as much as he’d like to ignore it, he’d apparently dreamed of Captain America. Captain America, his boyhood crush, the unobtainable standard. Captain America...calling him Howard.

There was a lot to unpack there, and he’d really rather not.

A day or two went by, spent in fevered activity in the lab, tinkering and inventing, by turns frantic and inspired, but eventually, he ended up stumbling back into the study again. He immediately picked up the discarded shield and sunk into the overstuffed armchair, staring at the unlit fireplace, feeling everything and nothing. It was both a relief and a concern to see the apparition again fairly quickly, once he had apparently sunk into a waking dream.

“Howard? Howard, are you okay? You look...what’s going on, are you real?”

Tony couldn’t help laughing, a weak muffled chuckle from his slumped position, chin to chest. Even the figments of his imagination had existential crises, it was too perfect. _May as well lean into the hallucinations.  
_

He answered, gloomily, “I’m real. I’m not Howard, but I’m real.”

Captain America straightened up, from where he’d leaned closer.  
“Oh, I...I’m sorry, I was looking for Howard.”

Great, even the imaginary Cap was disappointed that Tony wasn’t Howard. _Join the club, pal. Hell, he may as well say it, this is his dream after all.  
_ “Join the club, pal.”

Captain America rocked back on his heels. He looked more sad than offended. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Ste-”

“--Steve Rogers, yeah, I know.”

Steve’s face was shocked now.  
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I’m Tony Stark, and you’re Captain America. Of course I know your name, we practically grew up together!” Tony huffed a laugh at his own quip, but Steve looked perplexed.

“Well, it’s...nice to meet you. Tony, you said your name was? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”

Tony brushed off the apology, charmed in spite of himself that even his own mental construction of Steve was so polite. “Just a joke, soldier, pay me no mind.”

With a sigh, Tony stood and grabbed a glass from the sidebar, walking into the kitchen for some ice. It took a moment for him to notice Steve had followed him...and by all accounts Tony was entirely awake. He pinched himself to double-check, and then cautiously reached his hand toward Cap, but his hand drifted through his shoulder. No shift in fog, no icy feeling, or anything like that, so this was more likely a hallucination rather than an apparition.

Steve watched Tony’s hand glide through his torso and shrugged. “I didn’t expect to end up a ghost, but I also never expected to become a super soldier, or fight a madman with red skin and no nose, so.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “No nose?”

Steve shrugged again, and smirked. “Yeah, the name ‘The Red Skull’ was very literal. A little too _on the nose._ ”

Tony snorted and started to turn away before straightening up abruptly.

“Wait-- I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you’re lucky to have never seen him.”

“No, listen: _I never knew about the nose_. I already thought he sounded freaky, when I was a kid, but I don’t think Howard ever mentioned that detail in the bedtime stories. I would’ve remembered.”

Steve looked confused. “Bedtime stories? Howard...was your dad?”

Tony waved away his question. “Steve! Listen! What else is something you knew, that I shouldn’t know, that I might be able to look up?”

With eyebrows raised, Steve stammered, “Umm, let’s see, the Red Skull--”

Tony interrupted. “Not about him, necessarily. Actually, it’s tougher to find info on him, so definitely not him. C’mon, just a factoid about you, or something about the Howling Commandos, or something.”

Steve furrowed his brow now, and followed Tony’s progress back into the study, saying slowly, “Well, my mother’s name was Sarah, my commanding officer was Colonel Phillips, I was sick all the time growing up, I-- I’m not sure what you want to know.”

Tony was rummaging through the boxes and found a medical file. “Okay, I don’t remember ever looking at this before. It looks like it’s your intake forms. So, here, before I read it, I remember Dad mentioning you had asthma and bad hearing, bad eyesight. What else would you have listed, once Erskine actually took you on?”

Steve huffed and looked away. “Almost easier to list the things I _didn’t_ have. But: scoliosis, arrhythmia, pernicious anemia, flat fee…--”

Tony had already flipped open the folder and paged impatiently through the forms until he found the list.

“Wow. Scoliosis and arrhythmia, the anemia. They’re all here. Steve, do you realize what this means?”

“I was living on borrowed time already, it’s all too fitting I was in a borrowed body, too? And ironic I’d linger on even without a body, now?”

“What? No, I meant, if I didn’t know something you just told me, something I just verified from the paperwork, that means you aren’t a figment of my imagination!”

Steve scoffed. “Of course I’m real. I said I was a ghost, didn’t I? Matter of fact, I asked if _you_ were real.”

Tony nodded manically, “Sure, but even seeing a ghost wouldn’t be particularly believable, but this...verified information, that’s… wow.”

Tony was pacing, agitated, and Steve had backed up out of the way, not that he could have actually been in the way.

Tony continued, “So ghosts are real, then. That’s not what I expected to find out, but, sure, why not. The implications of-- And what determines who comes back, or when? Or _why?_ ”

He suddenly whirled back to Steve. “You have to tell me all about it. You died in the plane crash? How long have you been a ghost, and where do you, well, haunt? Can I say haunt? That feels like that might not be the approved terminology, do ghosts have preferred terms? Actually, is _ghost_ the appropriate nomenclature, maybe you guys only trick people because you don’t like how we talk about you. Do you trick people? I’ll bet that’s a negative inaccurate stereotype too, I feel like I’m muddling this, am I?”

Steve looked overwhelmed from the conversational onslaught, but he gamely started to answer.

*

Sometime later, Tony swiped at his tired eyes and read back from his hastily scribbled notes.

“Okay, so, you remember the plane going down, and the icy cold water--” He winced in sympathy as he saw Steve visibly tense from the reminder, especially after how halting his telling of that portion of the story had been.

“--Sorry, Steve. And then you remember occasionally, well, _haunting_ some of your old haunts ---eh, couldn’t resist!--- like your childhood apartment, and the SSR headquarters in London. But never here, before?”

“I’m still not sure where _here_ is. Also, no one’s ever seen me before. Sometimes I thought...But no one’s ever spoken to me before.”

“Here is New York, of course, the capital of the world. And yes, I’m very special too, tell me all about it.”

“Tony, I’m serious, this is the first conversation I’ve had since I died.”

Tony was mostly sober already now, and the intensity of Steve’s voice sobered him up further.

“Yes, I understand. That must have been lonely.”

Steve nodded, distantly.

“I didn’t often see people. These hauntings, I guess, were at all different hours of the day, and people weren’t always around. But I saw Peggy, sometimes. She was always so beautiful, you know. Hurt t’see her. Saw Howard once or twice. Didn’t realize he had a kid already. A grown kid! I knew time was passing, everything looks so different, but still…”

“It’s been almost 70 years. Howard’s been dead and gone for decades now, too. Aunt Peggy is still alive. Lives here in the States now.”

“ _Aunt_ Peggy,” Steve dully repeated. “Did she ever...was she…?”

Tony looked grimly at Steve’s built form, slumped dejectedly in the ornate chair, and tried to distract himself from questions of how Steve could or couldn’t interact with the physical world ( _Is he actually sitting on that chair? If so, can he pick up objects, or…_ ) to focus on Steve’s grief. “I’m so sorry, Steve. She was happily married. I think it was some years after you were lost… They all kept looking for you. We still send expeditions looking for you actually, every year. My father felt we owed it to you, to find you and bring you home. But honestly, I think he believed you might still be alive, out there in the ice somewhere. Funded some research studies about cryogenics, even. They say Walt Disney was frozen, after he died. Urban legend, I think, but, still.”

“Disney, the animator? Why-- what? Whaddya mean frozen?”

Tony shrugged. “Cryogenics, you know, they freeze someone after death, with the purpose of someday bringing them back to life. If the science and technology ever catches up. But Howard was sure you were a perfect specimen for something like that, that your flawless body would be able to resist damage from freezing, and then be able to heal from the process of being unfrozen. All American USDA grade A beefcake, you know, just _fine_ fresh or frozen!” Steve looked perplexed and uncomfortable at the flirtatious tone.

“Sorry, pal, force of habit. I had a crush on you since, damn, forever!”

“Tony!” Steve hissed. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Tony waved away his concern, “Aw, Steve, it’s the future! And the tabloids have known I’m bisexual since I very publicly, and accidentally, outed myself with a boyfriend in my younger, hedonist years. Howard did not like that, I can tell you.”

“And you can just say that? It’s not-- that is, it isn’t…?”

“Not a crime anymore, old-timer. It’s not necessarily popular, for a long time it was more than just the military that preferred Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, but yeah, technically legal, and I can’t help but love technicalities. Or if you mean how can I just say it right to your figment of a face, well, if you can’t confess childhood indiscretions to visitors from the beyond, then who can you trust, ya know?”

Steve looked shellshocked. “It was such a dangerous secret back then. Hardly anyone knew--” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Almost no one knew that. About me.” He’d squared his shoulders to look up at Tony, but his face betrayed his nervousness.

“Well. Thank you for telling me, Steve.” He couldn’t resist making a joke, to ease the tension. “I guess the hereafter is as good a time to come out of the closet as any. Sorry, maybe that doesn’t translate, I mean--”

Steve interrupted. “I think I got it. Although I don’t know if that means only just what you said you were, or not, but that’s...that’s me too. I thought I’d marry Peggy and the other half of how I felt wouldn’t ever matter, you know? Bucky --my best friend Bucky, you know?-- used to tease me about Peggy, but I think he was just relieved.”

“Oh, were you two, uh, together? You and Bucky? That wasn’t in any of the stories I ever heard from my dad, at least.”

“No! No. Bucky wasn’t-- well, you could say Bucky liked anybody, and everybody liked Bucky, but no, Bucky preferred women. We were brothers, anyway, it wasn’t ever like that, between us. He knew I didn’t feel that way about most people, not like that, really, and the people I did like only ever had guts and heart in common, nothin’ else. But he worried about me, used to try to set me up on double dates with girls with him. He was family. That was maybe the hardest part of waking up as a spirit, since he was already gone and even though I’m gone too now, I’m still not there, where he is.”

Tony let the words hang for a moment, and then nodded. “I’ve got a friend like that. Rhodey. We didn’t grow up together, like you two, but we’ve been family most of our lives anyway. He and I were overseas together, and I was kidnapped, and tortu--other things happened. It’s...damn, it’s recent enough I really don’t talk about it, I’m not sure I’ll ever talk about it. But I thought I was gonna die there, waiting for him to rescue me, trying to rescue myself, and it was a hell of a thing to see him again, after I’d escaped, and he found me in the desert.”

There was a long silence, as they sat with their griefs.

“You make a good drinking partner,” Tony finally said, quietly, hesitant to disturb the companionable peace that had settled between them. “I usually only drink my feelings when I’m by myself, these days. Parties are for social drinking, you know, the fun kind. We should see if you can hold a glass, drink with me.”

Steve shrugged. “Even if I could, it wouldn’t matter. I can’t get drunk anymore. Couldn’t, I mean. Side effect of the serum. I was too sick and poor to drink much beforehand, and then..”

“...Then impervious, and now impermanent--or is it too permanent?” Tony finished the thought, with a rough laugh. “That might’ve been helpful for any drinking contests, but painful when you had downtime you’d rather turn into drowntime. I don’t remember many leisure stories from my dad, did you get any leave time?”

“Sure, of course. We were busy, all the time, chasing Hydra, but the lads chased plenty of skirts in between missions.”

Tony hefted himself up and rummaged through the stacked belongings on the side of the room, shifting boxes until he triumphantly raised a record and tipped it like a salute at Steve. “We need music, yeah? Something from your time.”

The record player scratched and hissed before settling in to the grooves, and the music swelled, filling the dim room.

> _“Underneath the lantern by the barrack gate,  
> _ _Darling I remember the way you used to wait._  
>  _'Twas there that you whispered tenderly that you loved me,  
> _ _You'd always be my Lili of the lamplight, my own Lili Marlene.”_
> 
> _“We'll meet again, Don't know where, Don't know when  
> _ _But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.”_

Steve had seemed to relax as the music continued, but Tony thought he saw the shine of unshed tears in his eyes, too, before Tony slowly dropped asleep, soothed by the quiet company, and the music reminding him of his mother, and the quiet way she’d sway to the soft music in their suffocatingly empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad place to pause, but it picks up in the next chapter, so I'll see you there!
> 
> And hey, don't @ me about the Bucky brush-off in this story if you also like Stucky, cause I'm a Stucky shipper too! I feel like Steve's broad shoulders can easily carry multiple ships!  
> Here are the two Steve/Bucky stories I've written before, to placate you, since they aren't together in this story at all: 
> 
> Cold War AU, 18k words for a serious and brooding story, when Captain America teams up with the Winter Soldier: ["Casualties of a Cold War"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17869721)
> 
> Modern, no powers, and 2k words with lots of so-bad-they're-great pick-up lines, for the prompt 'bad flirting': ["Take Me Home Tonight"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669763/).


	2. on the rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and for two people separated by time and space and the afterlife and literal sheets of ice, they're getting closer everyday.

“Steve! Steve, are you here?”

The sudden flare of light resolved into Steve’s familiar shape, and Tony immediately set down the vintage shield and launched into conversation, spreading out the current blueprints on the desk, without needing to wait to see if Steve had followed.

Somewhere along the way, Steve had become a near-daily necessity. Tony had found Steve in the study often enough, and eventually they’d found that Steve could be summoned if Tony held the prototype shield--

> “Summoned!” Steve had protested “Summoned? That’s not-- there’s gotta be a better way to say that.”
> 
> “Oh, don’t get your patriotic panties in a twist, you, what, answered my prayers?”
> 
> “Aw, Tony, you don’t gotta be vulgar and sacrilegious all at once like that--”
> 
> “--you’re absolutely right, Cap, I’ll be sure to spread my vulgarity and blasphemy out a bit more.”

But Steve had said, in what was a profoundly disappointing explanation to Tony’s scientific mind, that while he wasn’t necessarily aware of time passing while he was away, and while he hadn’t particularly planned any of his previous trips while in this twilight awareness, the shield would sometimes shimmer in his memories and he could follow it to Tony’s study.

> _"Shimmer_ how, Steve, c’mon, give me something to work with here.”
> 
> “It’s like...that whisper of a song in your mind, you know? And you’re not sure if you quite remember it, but you hum the bits you do remember, and then it’s like the song either clicks or it doesn’t, but even if it doesn’t, it’s in the back of your mind, and you’re just sorta...aware of it. So I get a reminder of the shield, and it either pulls me straight back, or sometimes it takes a bit to remember how to follow it back. See?”
> 
> “So you’re an artist _and_ a poet, good for you. Ugh. That’s the most profoundly lackluster description of the afterlife and the ability to appear, incorporeal, anywhere, anytime. What am I supposed to do with any of that?! I’m only forgiving you because I know you don’t currently _have_ a brain anymore.”
> 
> “Sure, and you don’t have a heart, Tin Man.”

It never quite stopped bothering Tony, the sheer unscientific nature of it, feeling like a druid or a warlock, holding this apparently mystical token and calling Steve back from the hereafter, or something like it, but after all, some of science could be described as making the most of what was already known, even if the processes were as of yet inexplicable. So if he left the background processes of his mind running the problem through on a loop, at least he didn’t let it interfere with his more pressing concerns. Like the current planned upgrade to the Iron Man suit he was showing to Steve, on actual paper blueprints.

It had irked him, at first, to have to actually use a printer and paper again, but during his rant to himself in the lab, waiting for the oversized pages to print from the industrial plotter, the pointed comments from Jarvis, his sentient AI system, had slowed him down a bit. _“Yes, Sir. Terribly inconvenient of the visiting spirit to require the use of technology only several decades beyond his time rather than that of the modern age. Perhaps you can submit a complaint.”_

Steve had followed him readily enough when he’d walked out of the study now and then, but the vast majority of their time was spent in the study, which meant less technological access. Unrelated fact, tangential, hardly worth mentioning, but...Jarvis wasn’t available in the study. Tony had tried not to look too closely at his motives there, in leaving him out of that room when retrofitting the mansion. He wasn’t sure if it was his father’s enormous presence in the room, as a sort of inviolate time capsule, or Tony’s occasional depressing binges, that made Jarvis seem an unwelcome addition there, but it was easy enough to ignore.

Tony didn’t really live at the mansion so much as frequently visit, and it seemed fitting that it still didn’t feel much like home, since it rarely felt that way even in his childhood. It was impossible for it to ever feel truly homey without his mother there, anyway, but Steve added a great deal to the equation, and that was something else Tony tried not to examine too hard either. Steve wasn’t a secret, exactly, but Tony hadn’t mentioned him to anyone else, and hadn’t even directly introduced him to Jarvis, and that had led to Tony somewhat subconsciously keeping their visits restricted to the study and the kitchen, and the hallways between. Jarvis, sainted program and reliable confidant that he was, seemed to pick up on the unspoken separation of worlds, and never interrupted them, despite his presence throughout the hallways and kitchen.

He toyed with the idea of leading Steve to his lab space eventually, but somehow the timing had never felt right. Something about the brightness and sterility of the workspace, compared with the comparative coziness of the study, always shifted the balance, and he’d never yet attempted to bridge that mental gap. Besides, Steve’s connection to the study was rapidly redeeming Tony’s colder memories of the room, and since he was all about improvements, it worked out well. It had taken Tony long enough to eventually tell Steve the rest of what he’d already admitted to the world at that press conference, that he was Iron Man, but it was surprisingly difficult to work in to their deep and meandering talks, and just like the conference, no, he wouldn’t be taking any questions about why that was.

Tony was tapping the blocky carpenter pencil against his chin as he and Steve considered the blueprints on the desk. Steve wasn’t an engineer or a futurist like Tony, but he was quick to make connections, and insightful in his questions, and he really did have an artist’s eye. Steve swept his hands over the lines, indicating where sections could be shifted for a cleaner look, as they’d been discussing, and then he looked up, seeming to notice Tony’s attention was on him, and not the topic at hand.

“What is it?”

“Hmm, nothing. Well, not nothing, but just...this. Discussing groundbreaking tech with my own personal ghost. The bizarreness of it all just hit me, or something.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “‘M not really _your_ ghost though, y’know.”

“What?? Steve, are you cheating on me with other living beings?! You can hang out with all the undead as much as you like, but if I’m not your only haunting, I’ll be very put out.”

“I guess it really is just you, though, so maybe you’re right. I don’t ever see any other ghosts around, and most people look right through me. I have to focus sometimes, even just for you to see me. But it is getting easier, it’s hardly any effort at all to see you now.”

“Yeah, you’re plenty easy on the eyes too, pal.” He paused to grin at Steve’s smirk. “I hadn’t really questioned it, but no other spirits cluttering the world with you? That’s strange, isn’t it?”

“I thought I saw Bucky once, but… that’s it. And I think I must’ve just imagined him. He was all in black, his hair was longer, and he was, well… He was different from before. Standing outside our old tenement house, where I’d go walk sometimes, but no one noticed me there, not that I ever tried to get anyone to see me. But I thought it was Bucky, standing there, awfully stiff and uncomfortable, and just glaring at the building like he’d raze it to the ground if he could.”

“He was a ghost though too, right? You’re not saying it was him, back from the dead?”

“No...well. ’M not rightly sure what I look like now, so I couldn’t say if he looked like me, or not, ghostly or not, I mean. But he didn’t really look alive either. I haven’t always had the best control of when and where I appear, though, and from the shock, I-- I lost the thread, couldn’t stay put. He was gone by the time I got back."

*

Snuggling deeper into his arms, Tony tried to focus on Steve’s steady breathing, and ignore the growing weight of consciousness. Steve was warm and comfortable under Tony’s cheek, and he resisted waking up as intently as he could. There was some slow-building discomfort distracting him from the critical task of sleeping off the previous night, and he was increasingly aware of the fatigue in his limbs. Mostly, he could feel a creeping sense of a chill growing more and more noticeable, and a nearly painful tension in his muscles. Bleeding edges of fear and panic, bright lights, pressure in his lungs, and Steve shouting his name, no, his own name? No, Steve shouting Tony’s name, but someone else insistently repeating Steve’s name, and what the hell? Abruptly the sensory inputs cut out, dream over, apparently, and Tony jerked awake, disgruntled and unsettled from the dream.

He stretched out roughly, his fingertips sliding along the cool steel of the bedsheets...well, that didn’t make sense. He scrunched his eyes and cautiously lifted his head, neck protesting every inch of it, to realize he’d fallen asleep on the lab table again, mid-coding. The screensaver on the nearest monitor slowly rotated through iterations of the Iron Man suit models, and there was a distant pinging sound from one of the fabricators finishing up a task in the corner of the room. Everything was exactly as he’d left it, when he’d finally succumbed to sleep last night. Hmm.

He cleared his throat, and finding the remaining tension from the dream still strangling him, cleared it again. He aimed for the artificially upbeat tone that would have pained Pepper and annoyed Rhodey, but which his programming was predisposed to overlook. “Jarvis, what are the happy-haps today, my code-alicious friend?”

Jarvis dutifully reeled off the stats of the day and upcoming calendar events, along with details of what the lab had finished compiling and assembling while he’d slept, but Tony kept frowning at the cycling screensaver.

“Situation normal, then, you’re saying?”

“Sir, if I may, your sleep stats for the most recent rest were unusual.”

“Makes sense. My dreams were especially therapy-worthy last night, from what I remember.”

“On the contrary, Sir, you showed little evidence of the physical signs most commonly correlated with dream activity in current scientific literature. And by your own history, you exhibited few of the benchmarks of a sleep cycle which would typically be followed by your commentary on vivid dreams, and none of the hallmarks of a sleep cycle that would normally precipitate a call to Rhodey to recount ‘all the disturbing elements of your muddied subconscious.’ His words, Sir.”

“Huh.” Tony swiveled the stool, bumping into the lab table, and traced the scores and scorch marks on the metal from previous projects. Something about the dream, or not-dream, or waking nightmare, or whatever it was, lingered on in his mind. A feeling of cold, the weight of foreboding. God, he was getting dramatic again. _Ya give a guy metaphysical séance abilities, and he becomes a full-on dream-fearing mystic_ , he scoffed to himself _._

But just the same, he finally gave into the urge to try to talk to Steve, unusual timing though it was for their normal schedule, but then, did ghosts even keep schedules? What would even be on the agenda? As he hurried down the corridors to the study, he wondered if Steve had any sort of paranormal hobbies he hadn’t mentioned before, _and Steve never did answer the whole do-ghosts-actually-play-tricks question after all,_ even recognizing, as he did, what a poor coping strategy his idle musing was to keep from worrying.

He held the shield and paced the study, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling he had. Steve would appear in just a moment, and maybe Tony could jokingly ask if he’d caught him at a bad time, was he in the middle of a shower when he’d called. A meteor shower, maybe, up in the stars where he probably lived. Ugh, now he was waxing poetic, he needed to snap out of it.

After at least an hour, or maybe only 15 minutes, he splashed some scotch into a glass and hastily downed it. It was entirely too early to be drinking, but he felt too panicky to avoid it. He debated calling Rhodey, and almost immediately discarded the idea. For obvious crazy-sounding reasons, he hadn’t shared this particular detail of his recent life with Rhodey, and he was just clear-headed enough to realize that now, while he was twitchy and worried and feeling decidedly unhinged, would not be the best time to convincingly share the tale.

But.

Still.

He wished he had someone to call. No, he wished he had _Steve_ to talk to. It was a poor time to realize how in over his head he was already, in this complicated connection he had with a long-dead soldier. Like some sort of bizarre Nicholas Sparks novel. So maybe his best bet would be to call Pepper and try to spin this as a story he’d read, or imagined, or something. She liked this sort of star-crossed romance nonsense. Ugh, and now he’d literally used the word _romance_ in connection to Steve. He threw some more Scotch down his throat.

He’d never held his heart in his hands, and he’d, frankly, always considered that a silly turn of phrase, even after spluttering up from the tepid water during the torture in the cave, literally clutching in his dirtied and bloodied hands the sparking car battery protecting his heart and keeping him alive. But holding Steve’s shield now, and waiting nervously for him to show, felt an awful lot like that. Like a time-bomb balanced in his hands, while he waited and paced, and swallowed back the fear and swallowed down the alcohol.

He could ask Jarvis if Steve had ever taken this long to appear, but he already knew the answer. The hours slipped away as the drinks slid down his throat, and he waited.

Sometime later, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, he heard a chime from Jarvis, out in the hallway, and stumbled out as quickly as he could, on sleep-dulled limbs.

“Yeah, J, what? Tell me tell me.”

“Sir, the ongoing alerts we’ve programmed into SHIELD’s networks have been activated.”

He eagerly accepted the distraction, relieved to be thinking of anything else after the hamster wheel his thoughts had been stuck in all day. “Oh, sure, now that it worked it’s * _we*_ , but I seem to remember you reading _me_ the Riot Act while _we_ were hacking in and setting those up.”

“It wasn’t the Riot Act, Sir, it was the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, or federal legal code 18 U.S.C. § 1030. But if I may refocus your attention, the alerts triggered were all of Stark contributions to Operation Rebirth, or the Super-Soldier serum program.”

The reminder of Steve, and his absence, knocked the wind out of Tony.

Jarvis waited a moment before continuing, a touch slower and quieter. Tony felt coddled, but all too grateful, regardless, for the moment to gather himself to be able to listen past the rush of adrenaline.

“The primary focus seems to be on the set-up and usage of the Vita-Rays, as well as some of the later notes made regarding possible future recovery of Captain America, and proposed recuperative or medicinal use of the Vita-Rays and other technologies. Specifically their application in regards to enhanced individuals.”

Tony pondered this for a moment. “Where, J?”

“Multiple access points, Sir. Including log-ins from the Arctic, Sir.”

Tony scrambled over to see the holographic map hovering, with several dots along the Eastern seaboard and one awfully suspicious dot far up north.

He had a cup of coffee.

Then another.

He was prone to go haring off immediately, fixing problems with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, but when necessary, he could _redirect_ that urge, a bit.

The coffee was cold but his blood was still hot. He’d spent longer than he’d wanted looking through SHIELD’s recent digital activity, including the files he’d flagged originally, trying to force himself to wait for more information, but the certainty was growing in his heart as well as his mind. SHIELD had found, or at least believed they’d found, Steve, his Steve. After a last review of Jarvis's notes on what had been accessed, and where and when, especially the changes over the hours since he’d last looked at the original files, he got dressed, fastening the watch on his wrist like a gauntlet. And then he picked up the briefcase with the actual gauntlets, and all the rest of his Iron Man suit, and marched for the door. He backtracked a bit awkwardly to grab the shield, ruining his rhythm a bit, but as he went to open the door, he paused a moment. The briefcase suit in one hand, and the shield in the other, and the chance at possibly actually putting his hands on Steve, the real Steve, in the flesh, overwhelmed him. But this was an urgent and possibly desperate matter, and there was a high probability he'd have the need to lay hands on anyone interfering along the way, too, so he shook himself and strode out the door.

Time to go get Steve.

Long past time to go to Steve.


	3. with a twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a daring rescue attempt, wouldn't you say?

SHIELD agents surrounded his car as he pulled into the underground lot he wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to have access to. No one directly blocked him, as he headed straight for Fury’s office, sussed out from the encrypted building plans by Jarvis, since none of his prior meetings at SHIELD headquarters had ever included direct office access. Smart; ultimately a very pointless security attempt, but you know. Smart to at least attempt it.

At the elevator, he scanned a keycard he’d managed to swipe from the group that had swarmed his car, very clumsy of them to let him bump into several of them on the way, and finally took a moment to actually hesitate. Breaking into SHIELD, the servers or the buildings themselves, was relatively standard fare for him, practically expected, and he’d hate to let Fury down in successfully complicating his life with those restrained incursions--

But it might be a stretch to get away with swanning in to rescue the super-soldier who was most likely here-- 

In point of fact, even calling it a “rescue” was a bit of a stretch, too, possibly?

Back at the mansion, when it had occurred to Tony, mid-hack and looking for details of Steve’s possible location and status, that all of this meant Steve _hadn’t_ been dead the entire time they’d been communicating, he’d had a moment of quiet panic. 

He’d been sure of the accuracy of the identity, and their connection, from the way he’d verified and tested facts and details in talking to him, and the fact that SHIELD was taking this seriously seemed to verify the identity of the man they’d found. So his best bet now was that it must have been some sort of astral projection letting Steve’s consciousness escape his frozen corporeal body… Which, fine, didn’t make any more sense than ghosts, to Tony, in many ways, but it didn’t change his determination to go get Steve and see him for himself, alive and well. My God. That was a thought that staggered him every time he paused over it. Steve, alive, and possibly only a few reinforced floors away.

But now, as the elevator smoothly clicked through the levels, he felt that uncommon hesitation when his own forward momentum slowed enough to let him over-think, in the worst way.

Would Steve have any conscious memory of Tony? Would he regret their connection, once Tony wasn’t the only person around to talk to? 

Who knew if Steve would’ve ever intentionally made the connection between them, if he’d actually had a choice, but now he would have a choice, and Tony would have to find a way to muscle in enough to give Steve the opportunity to leave with him if he wanted, while still leaving enough space for Steve to leave to somewhere else if he wanted. Which he’d probably want, right? 

Coulson was right outside the doors as they slid open, and Tony had to hide a grin at being anticipated so well. As much as he enjoyed aggravating Fury & Co, and God did he enjoy it, elements like this, where they matched his moves, helped keep the game feeling playful.

“Mr. Stark, what a surprise. Dare I ask what prompted this visit, to a location you are categorically not authorized to access?”

“Sightseeing, of course, Agent. I woke up feeling especially patriotic, just thought I’d drop by and see if you had any national icons on display.”

The briefest flash of irritation swept Coulson’s face, as he pretended to motion Tony in the same direction Tony had already started briskly striding, towards Fury’s office. 

“I see. You know, most significant displays, historical or otherwise, typically take some time to set-up. Overlooking the fact that you weren’t invited, you’re also too early for good manners.”

“Mmm, good thing my manners have always been openly acknowledged as deficient then, don’t you think? And you know what else is deficient: your documentation on my father’s Vita-Rays, so I’d say I’m right on time. No, no, actually” and here he whisked open Fury’s door to see him seated calmly, waiting. “I’d say I’m inexcusably late. Fury, your lackey here is slacking, and I received no engraved invitation at all to this thrilling event. Slackey, say you’re sorry.”

Fury steepled his hands and quietly glared at Tony. “Do you know,” he began deliberately, “I let myself hope we might get a few day’s peace before you stormed in here. Shall we dispense with all the bluster, and you tell me how much you know so far?” His eye had slid over to Coulson as he’d talked, and Tony sensed they were still feeling out exactly how much they could hoodwink him.

“Take me to Steve Rogers, and then we can all see just how much I know or don’t know, huh?”

Fury’s aggrieved sigh could’ve nearly lasted the entire length of their subsequent walk to the observation deck, overlooking a sterile medical room, centered around a man surrounded by monitoring machines and asleep in a hospital bed. 

Pausing in the middle of the observation deck, Tony tossed over his shoulder, “So how’s he doing so far, Slackey?”

Coulson nodded grimly at one of the techs in the room with them, who turned the terminal to Tony. Fury stood near the large glass observation window, brooding down at the unconscious man. Coulson let Tony look over the records a moment, before saying, “He’s apparently in stable condition, and all his vital signs are promising, but so far he’s remained unconscious.”

Coulson turned another screen toward Tony, showing earlier footage, sped up, of a man in a saltwater tank, hooked up to wires and slowly defrosted, until, with a blur of fast forwarded activity, scientists and medical techs transferred him to the bed in the room below.

Arms crossed, Fury half turned away from the windows. “The medical team is still reviewing our options from here. Your dad’s Vita-Ray tech is top of the list for next attempts, if he doesn’t wake up on his own soon. I’m sure they have a countdown clock of their own, but I should have expected to need one too, as soon as we found something you’d find interesting enough to deign to drop by for.”

Moving over by the glass, Tony felt his throat closing at the sudden emotion of seeing Steve down below. His face looked almost exactly the same as during their last conversation. The bright medical lights were too harsh to match Steve’s ghostly soft blue glow from the last time he’d seen him, but even so, Steve still seemed to glow, lying motionless and quiet on the crisp white sheets. 

Wrists crossed at his lower back, Tony considered his options now. Steve seemed the very picture of health, and all the readouts appeared to confirm that assessment. Steve had seemed panicked and afraid in the brief moments of connection before Tony had fully woken up, which, if one assumed that wasn’t a dream, might indicate Steve had made a sudden and unaided connection to Tony’s mind at the moment he was being awoken. The fact that the techs said he hadn’t been conscious yet would seem to contradict that, but then again--

Tony paced back over to the screens to watch the monitoring readouts as the time-lapse video looped. There were a few spikes, and after all, Steve had impeccable control, by all accounts, so perhaps he’d feigned sleep and intentionally lowered his respiratory rate and heartbeat, trying to gain time. Shock, tinged with fear, was the last thing Tony remembered from their brief interrupted connection earlier that day; maybe he was afraid of who’d found him, and was biding his time. 

It would be hard, after all, to discover you weren’t actually dead, as expected, and to be completely surrounded with advanced technology and strangers, especially after the many real opportunities he would’ve had during the war to experience and fear Hydra’s many medical experimentation rooms. There would’ve been no familiar voices to hear whenever he’d regained consciousness here, with no one left alive on-staff who personally knew him. If nothing else, Tony thought, he could at least be that for Steve, to help reassure him it was safe to admit he was awake. Or if he were in fact still unconscious, perhaps hearing Tony would help him focus enough to wake up. Either way, there were definitely options to try before attempting to restore the Vita-Ray machines to functionality.

Testing a hunch, he crossed back over to the glass to talk to Fury, projecting his voice just a bit more than was strictly necessary.

“Alright, well, you’ve got a Stark here now, may as well get your money’s worth. Let me go down to examine him before we try those classic Vita Rays, just like dad used to make.” He thought he heard a slick uptick in the monitoring beeps, as if Steve had heard him through the glass and reacted a bit, and quickly continued. “But listen, what’s the plan once he’s back up and at ‘em, when does he get to leave? I’ve got at least one guest room I could spare, you know, and I’m fairly certain even my pantry is more comfortable than whatever character-building concrete rooms your agents sleep upright in. Do I have to sign him out, like a library rental, or maybe do you have a break-it-you-buy-it policy here? Cause I’ll happily outbid the Smithsonian; a living legend should get to actually live, ya know. In sunshine, not behind glass.”

Fury’s face had grown more pinched as Tony had talked, and now he glowered at him.

“He’s not even woken up yet, and you’re already trying to kidnap him. I don’t know why I bother having expectations about you: they’re never low enough or absurd enough, and you always sidestep them anyway. He’ll be staying here, of course, for observation and any treatment, and we will cautiously handle reintegration when and if he’s prepared for it. I know you’re used to buying and collecting anything you want, but Captain America is a real live human being, first and foremost, and he will not be leaving with you.”

Tony nodded calmly. “Right, well, good to hear he’s not a prisoner. But we all know that I’ve got any and all tech he could possibly need for health monitoring, so since we’ve established that he’s a person and not a place or thing, if the man himself _decides_ to leave the spooky government labs to recuperate at Stark mansion, which I’ll remind you is a fair bit closer to his time’s aesthetic than this spaceship look you’ve got here, then he’ll be free to leave, right?”

Coulson had quickly walked over during this speech, looking concerned, but Fury was already answering. “I don’t care what you think your claim is, or what you think you can say to him, but he’s a soldier, and he belongs here, and--”

Tony interjected, “Listen, I know you’ve got a laundry list a mile long of tech you want me to review and/or invent from scratch for you. Meanwhile I’ve got an interest in liberty and personal freedoms, et cetera et cetera, so I’ll make you a deal. He leaves with me, if he wants to, and if not, then Christmas came early for you this year, but the presents are gonna be labeled from Stark, not Santa.”

The only sound for several moments was the click and whir of medical machines reporting on the computers around them. Fury looked darkly amused, and Coulson looked bland, but possibly blandly peeved.

“Alright, Stark, so you want to make a bet about Captain America. Your motives are usually easier to puzzle out than this, so indulge my curiosity for a moment. What is this, family guilt, your basic rich guy assholery, some new way to torture me?”

Shrugging, and running a hand along the row of monitors, pretending to be concerned over nonexistent dust, Tony didn’t answer.

Fury cleared his throat. “Coulson, I already regret this, but what would you say is top of the wishlist, were I to consider this nonsense.”

With a barely furrowed brow somehow conveying deep aggravation, Coulson rattled off an extensive list, and ended with, “However, perhaps you could also stipulate, Sir, that by even allowing Stark access to state secrets such as this, participation in the bet automatically assures his assistance with upgrading the helicarriers.”

“Eh, fine, done, agreed, you can have the first half of that list if you win, maybe 60% if it goes as fast as I think. Doesn’t matter cause I won’t be losing. And yes, add the helicarrier upgrades in regardless, but I’m sure we all concur that the coffee makers are the first priority on that project.”

He’d started walking toward the exit as he talked, and Fury shrugged and waved him out, looking fatigued with the whole conversation, as Coulson quickly transcribed the agreed list.

The brief time between the observation room and the room below, where Steve waited, took a fair bit longer as Tony leaned into the worry he could feel spiking again. What if Steve didn’t remember him, consciously? Or what if Steve remembered him just fine, but didn’t have any intention of going against the government and his presumed bosses? Or what if Tony’s honesty about his own life and experiences and reputation during their many long conversations made Steve see him as a risk; fine for a few incorporeal heart-to-hearts, but not really someone ideal to associate with once one wasn’t actually a figment… For that matter, Steve hadn’t intentionally chosen to connect with Tony in the first place, and he’d outright said no one else had ever seen or communicated with him otherwise, so Tony might well just be a perfect example of ‘any port in a storm,’ or, you know, ‘any available receptive soul in an afterlife,’ or something like that.

Well.

Ready or not, he was out of time and distance, finally, between him and Steve. Pausing one final moment at the swinging medical doors, Tony tried to paste back on his self-confidence for this last bit. He was fairly certain Steve would wake up, one way or another, after he walked through those doors; he could feel it, in his soul, if he did in fact still have one of those. And after all, all he’d done was guarantee Steve a choice, one he might not otherwise have been afforded right away. And if Steve wanted to stay, fine, and Tony’s lost bet would keep him in Steve’s orbit for a bit longer while he worked through Fury’s honey-do list. Even if Steve didn’t want to be friends with him now, once he’d have actual choices in who to talk to, Tony could still keep an eye out to be sure he was safe, and adapting well, and not being frogmarched into some sinister black-ops task out of a manipulated sense of duty.

Cocky grin back in place, he shoved through the doors and called out, “Honey, I’m home!” He shot a wink up at Coulson looking down with annoyance from the room above, and swaggered over to the hospital bed. He picked up the chart and in a low voice, started to talk to Steve. 

“Hello, soldier, I’m Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, and I’m very pleased to _meet_ you.” He’d let the emphasis linger on _meet_ just a bit, as he walked closer. 

“You’re in a governmental facility, the headquarters of SHIELD, which was originally founded by Peggy Carter during the time you were frozen and presumed dead. It’s the year of our Lord 2010, old-timer, and Director Fury is currently the head honcho you’d be answering to if you decide to stay put. But I’ve negotiated an early release for ya, if you’re so inclined. The Stark family mansion will seem _quite familiar_ to you, I’d imagine, if you’re interested in recuperating in an actual house, with a real bed. With fewer eyes on you.”

He set the chart down on the small rolling cart alongside the bed and slowly exhaled.

“But it’s up to you. Assuming you can even hear me right now.”

He waited a long moment for a reaction, any reaction, and had just started to mentally review possible next steps if Steve were in fact unconscious, when he heard his breathing change, and snapped his eyes over in time to see Steve blink slowly and look right at him.

_Ha, right again, but now for the other shoe to drop_ , Tony thought as he gave a small smile and reminded himself to stay calm. Steve’s answering smile was equally weak, but he also gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Tony felt his smile growing.

“I see my dulcet tones woke you up, Sleeping Beauty. So what do you think, Stark or SHIELD, pick a team. The menacing one-eyed crow you can see lurking over my shoulder up there is Director Fury, and you’re welcome to continue to rely on his dubious hospitality if you’d like. Not that I don’t trust Fury! He’s a great guy, if you can overlook the ominous henchman look he’s got going on and the fact that he replaced his personality with another gun a few years back.”

Tony could feel Coulson’s glare burning into him, and he tried to smother a laugh.

“Or, you’re welcome to come hang out at my house,” and he gestured back at Coulon and Fury, “cause Mom and Dad totally said you can come over, as long as you finish your homework and go to bed at a reasonable time.”

With the barest smile on his face, Steve stayed quiet, mostly gazing at Tony but shooting quick looks around the room and up at Fury.

_This is all a bit much. Just...overwhelming_ , Tony thought. He knew he was overcompensating just a tad, with all the rambling and scattershot jokes. But the most important thing was that Steve really was here, alive and apparently well, and, going by his (admittedly understated reaction so far) even remembered Tony too.

When his eyes skated back away to the glass, Tony looked to see that Fury and Coulson had started walking away from the window, probably to come join them in the room. Steve met his eyes again, and this time his full smile bloomed. Tony’s face ached already from his huge answering grin. 

“Coming home with me, then? Let’s just sign you out at the front desk, last chance to trash the room before we go.”

Steve huffed a laugh and nodded. The doors behind Tony banged open as Fury and Coulson swept in, already lecturing away, but Tony kept looking at Steve looking at him. He had to swallow hard as he felt another surge of emotion at the improbability of all of this. For Tony to have survived the Ten Rings, for Steve to have survived a plane crash and literal decades under the ice, and for it all to culminate here, in New York, where they had somehow met before actually meeting.

So let Fury talk himself out. 

He could wait for the next real conversation he’d have with Steve, back in the study, things much the same but completely different, in-person finally. Or maybe they’d get crazy and actually visit another room in the huge mansion for once. Well, no hurry to decide any of that. Finally, they’d be in the same place at the same time, and with all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fourth Big Bang, and it was yet another great experience! My thanks to the mods for a great event, and for their flexibility with the scheduling with all the upheaval in the world lately. I hope everyone reading this is staying safe, what an absolutely bizarre year it's been already.
> 
> A huge huge thank you to my artist and beta, [oluka](https://oluka.tumblr.com), who is so talented and so easy to work with! Thanks for everything!
> 
> To my gruesome twosome who listen to all my ramblings and help me sort through for the good stuff, thanks for all your patience, as always, but stop giving me endless pun suggestions when I'm brainstorming titles, because you know I can't say no...hence the "32 degrees" subtitle. 
> 
> I've got a few other Steve/Tony stories I've written, and two Steve/Peggy stories as well, so check those out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bcharacter_ids%5D%5B%5D=7267&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=RansomNotes) if you'd like.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!  
> Come visit my tumblr, at [RansomNoteworthy](https://ransomnoteworthy.tumblr.com/), but it's a random mess, I'm just warning you now.
> 
> But! If you want to see curated Tony Stark content, then go to my artist [oluka](https://oluka.tumblr.com/)'s tumblr, and while you're there, be sure to send a compliment or three!


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